September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (36 page)

He couldn't see mourners finding solace in Rose's achievements any more than they could find it in her recent happiness. People didn't find solace in the murder of a wonderful woman.

Chuck hoped that the hundreds around him would not have to experience a day like this again – or at least anytime soon – but he knew that they would. They most certainly would.

Somewhere off the coast of West Africa, nature was conspiring to bring a whirlwind of pain. Death was already knocking on a thousand Galveston doors.

CHAPTER 61: EMILY

Saturday, August 25, 1900

As Emily Beck went through a bedroom closet in a house on Nineteenth Street, she noted the little things – a brush covered with red hair, a theater program, a library bookmark, and an issue of
National Geographic Magazine
touting the glories of California.

To most people, the items would have been nothing more than disposable knickknacks. To someone who loved and admired Rose O'Malley, they were priceless reminders of a vivacious, achieving, fun-loving woman who always had one foot in the past and the other in the future.

They were also things that Charlotte Townsend couldn't bring herself to touch. One week after the violent murder of her best friend, she had found it nearly impossible to do much more than breathe. So on the morning she had left with Chuck for a weekend of reflection at the Sea View, she had asked Emily and Justin to pack Rose's belongings and take them to her family.

Emily sat on Rose's bed, flipped through the pages of the magazine, and stopped at an article about mountains, beaches, and giant trees. Like her late friend and colleague, she had more than a passing interest in the state with the Golden Gate.

"Have you found something interesting?" Justin asked.

"I've found several interesting things, including this magazine," Emily said. "It has a long article about a place you know well."

Justin walked over to the bed.

"May I see it?"

"Of course," Emily said.

Justin gently lifted the periodical from Emily's hands. He looked at the table of contents on the cover, frowned, and handed the magazine back to its finder.

"This is old information."

"It was published four years ago, Justin. How much can a state change in four years?"

"It can change a lot. Trust me."

Emily frowned as she watched Justin return to a chest of drawers. She didn't know why he was more sullen than he had been even before the funeral, but she was determined to find out.

"I can see that something is bothering you. Tell me what."

"No," Justin said.

He continued to empty a drawer with his back turned to Emily.

"Is it Rose's death? If it is, I would understand."

"It's not Rose's death."

"Then what is it?" Emily asked. "Please tell me why you're troubled."

"I can't," Justin said.

"You can't or you won't?"

"What difference does it make?"

Emily slid off the bed.

"It makes a lot of difference, Justin Townsend."

"No. It doesn't."

Justin started on another drawer.

"
Why
doesn't it?"

"Why? I'll tell you why," Justin said. He rose to his feet and turned to face Emily. "It doesn't make a difference because even if I tell you what's bothering me it won't change the outcome."

"What outcome? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about
our
outcome," Justin said. "I'm talking about why I can't ask you to marry me and go to California."

Emily stepped back. She knew they would face challenges keeping their relationship alive after he left for Los Angeles, but she didn't consider any of them insurmountable. After four days of intense lovemaking, she had assumed that there were no obstacles they couldn't overcome.

When Emily saw the hurt on Justin's face, she stepped forward. She walked up to him, grabbed his hands, and gazed at him with sympathetic eyes.

"I don't understand what you just said," Emily said. "But if you're asking me to marry you, then you already know my answer. I told you I would follow you to California."

She kissed him lightly on the lips.

"I would follow you to Timbuktu."

Justin took a deep breath.

"Would you follow me to the future?"

"The what?"

"The future," Justin said.

"The future?"

"Yes. The future. Would you follow me to the twenty-first century knowing you could never come back? Would you follow me knowing you could never see Anna again? Would you?"

"What?"

"I'm from the
future
, Emily!" Justin said. "I came here from the year 2016. I walked through some sort of magic tunnel in Los Angeles and popped out in 1900. I'm not from this time."

Emily let go of Justin's hands and stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. Stunned, fearful, and speechless, she stepped backward until she bumped into the bed and fell onto the mattress. When Justin stepped forward, she held out a hand.

"Don't come any closer," Emily said.

"Emily?"

"I mean it. Don't come any closer, Justin, if that's really your name."

"It
is
my name."

"You're from the future?"

"I'm from the future," Justin said.

Emily closed her eyes and counted to five. She could not believe her luck with men. She had gone from an arranged marriage to a philanderer to the Man from Mars in less than a year.

"I don't believe you."

"Really?"

"That's right," Emily said.

"OK. I'll prove it then. Ask me a question."

Emily glared.

"When were you born?"

"January 5, 1995."

"You're lying," Emily said. "Where did you grow up?"

"Mission Viejo."

"Never heard of it."

"It's still a cattle ranch," Justin said.

"Who's the president?"

"Barack Obama."

"Who?"

"Never mind," Justin said.

"I think you're making this up."

"Why would I make
anything
up?"

"Because you're a man," Emily said. "Men lie."

"So we're back to that?"

"Yes."

"You really don't believe me?" Justin asked.

Emily glared.

"I don't believe a word."

Justin frowned and sighed.

"OK. I hear you."

Justin grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her off the bed.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm taking you to another room," Justin said with an edge in his voice. "If you don't believe me, then maybe you'll believe someone else."

CHAPTER 62: JUSTIN

Justin pressed a button on his father's cell phone and watched a clip he had seen a dozen times. The young man on the high-definition screen was almost as compelling as the one he saw every day in the beach-house mirror.

"That's you?" Emily asked.

"That's me on a cruise to Mexico," Justin said. "Given what your father does for a living, I thought you might like this video."

"What do you call this device?"

"Most people call it a cell phone or a smartphone."

"You mean it can make telephone calls too?" Emily asked.

Justin nodded.

"It can where I come from."

"You're not lying to me again, are you?"

Justin shook his head.

"I didn't lie to you earlier, Emily. I came from the future. I came from a time so different than this it would make your head spin. I've wanted to tell you for days, but I didn't know even where to start. That's why I've been so quiet and distant lately."

Emily looked at Justin with humble eyes.

"I thought it was because you didn't want to marry me."

Justin put his hands on Emily's shoulders as they stood in the middle of a bedroom usually occupied by Charles and Charlotte Townsend.

"No. Nothing could be further from the truth," Justin said. "I
do
want to marry you."

"Then why don't you?"

"I can't unless you agree to come with me to 2016."

"Why must I leave? Why can't you stay?" Emily asked. "You've told me many times that you like it in Galveston. We can be happy here. Why can't you stay?"

Justin sighed.

"I could stay if I wanted to, but I don't. I
want
to return to my time. It may not be perfect, but it's better. It's where I belong."

Emily gently removed Justin's hands from her shoulders and walked to the bedroom's only window. She pulled back the curtains and stared blankly at the front yard.

"I can't give you an answer today, Justin. This is much too sudden."

"I understand."

Emily turned away from the window and faced her suitor.

"I'll give you an answer well before you leave. That's all I can promise."

"That's fair," Justin said.

Emily smiled sadly and returned to the time traveler who wanted to return to his time. She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the bed.

"Emily, what are you doing?"

"It's not what you think."

"Then what are you doing?" Justin asked.

"I'm leading you toward a comfortable place. I want to be comfortable when you tell me why you are here and why you want to return to this time of yours."

Emily let go of Justin's hand, sat on the bed, and patted the mattress.

"Please sit, Justin. Let's sit and talk," Emily said. "We have a lot to discuss."

Forty minutes later, Justin played yet another video. This clip showed Charlotte, Rose, and Emily helping patrons at the front desk of the Texas Maritime Library.

"That's me!" Emily said.

"That's you," Justin replied.

"How was your father able to take these pictures without drawing attention to himself?"

"He was able to do it by using a device that doesn't draw attention to
itself
. My dad probably put the phone on one of the tables in the back of the room and let it sit there like a deck of cards."

Emily frowned.

"It's hard to look at Rose. I miss her so."

"I do too," Justin said.

"Has your father shown Charlotte this 'video,' or whatever you call it?" Emily asked. "Has he told her who you really are?"

Justin nodded.

"He's shown her and told her everything."

"How about the others?" Emily asked.

"He told Wyatt back in June and Rose the day before she died."

Emily turned away when her eyes started to water.

"Are you OK, sweetheart?" Justin asked.

Emily nodded.

"I'm all right. I just need a moment."

Justin's heart sank as he watched Emily deal with the death of her friend and colleague. He knew she couldn't compartmentalize her pain any more than he could and wanted to give her all the time she needed to recover from her periodic bouts with grief.

"Maybe we should get back to packing Rose's belongings."

"No," Emily said as she turned to face Justin. She wiped an eye. "We have until tomorrow to pack her things. I want to know more about your time travels."

"What do you want to know?" Justin asked.

"One thing I'd like to know is why you really came to Galveston."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that your father didn't come here to write a book. He hasn't done any research at the library since June and hasn't, to my knowledge, written a word about what he's learned," Emily said. "Charlotte told me last week that she has never seen him write in anything but a diary."

Justin threw his arm around Emily as they sat upright against an oak headboard. After thinking about what she said, he turned to face her and sighed.

"You're observant, Miss Beck," Justin said. "My father didn't come here to write a book. I didn't come here to
help
him write a book. We both came to Galveston to prove that an innocent man didn't commit a murder for which he was later hanged."

"You mean Wyatt?"

Justin nodded.

"He's a very distant relative."

"How do you know that he didn't kill Rose?" Emily asked.

"I don't."

"Yet you believe he's innocent?"

"I do," Justin said. He looked at Emily. "Do
you
think that Wyatt killed Rose?"

"No. I don't. But what I think doesn't matter. All that matters is that Levi thinks he killed her. He won't let up unless a jury acquits Wyatt or someone proves he's innocent."

"That's what we're trying to do."

"Do you have any evidence that would support his case?" Emily asked.

"No. All that we have is a letter from Wyatt's natural brother Benjamin. He apparently heard about a deathbed confession in 1926 that was made by the person who actually killed Rose."

"Who's the real killer?"

"We don't know. We didn't even know who the victim would be until a week ago," Justin said. He grabbed Emily's hand and waited until she met his gaze. "You have to believe me when I say that there was no way we could have prevented this."

"I believe you."

"We tried to prevent the murder before it happened, but we couldn't. We didn't have enough information to go on," Justin said. "Now we don't even have what little information we brought with us. The letter from Wyatt's brother was stolen in the burglary."

"Surely you remember more details."

"We do. We know that the real killer was named Mack or Max."

Emily slumped against a pillow.

"My father's name is Max."

Justin nodded.

"He's on our short list of suspects. So is Levi MacArthur and Thomas Mack, our friendly neighborhood stalker. He's really high on my list."

"I don't know Thomas Mack, but I do know my father," Emily said. "He would never kill a friend of mine or have her killed. He would never kill a
woman
."

"Are you sure about that? Nothing would make it easier for him to acquire the Gulf Star Line than to knock Wyatt out of the picture," Justin said. "He even made a thinly disguised threat about 'circumstances' changing when I visited your house the first time."

"I don't care what he said. He would
not
kill Rose."